


she's a good girl (she feels so good)

by loveontherocks



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Cis Female Liam, Cunnilingus, F/M, Vaginal Sex, non famous AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 09:59:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10919520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveontherocks/pseuds/loveontherocks
Summary: "I feel like dancing, Harry," she says, and in the middle of the living room, she steals his attention, still wearing that sequined corset and a pair of leggings, leaving nothing to the imagination—although he’s seen most of her, on a stage under multicolored lights, he supposes this wouldn’t be anything different. Except now, it’s just Harry and he can see everything, every single curve, from the slope of her throat to the curve of her breasts and the sweet way her waist tapers off into the flare of her hips.or; liam is a dancer and harry is in a band and one night they go home together.





	she's a good girl (she feels so good)

**Author's Note:**

> hello again. i was inspired and this is completely self indulgent, but please enjoy! shout out to megan and ivy for the beta, but note that all mistakes and typos are my own. 
> 
> title comes from (you guessed it) "Carolina" by Harry Styles.

All the tables in the club are filled and there's still the remains of a long line at the host's podium. The decorations are purposely dated; the curtains that cover the stage are heavy and thick, draping at the bottom of the stage. The chandeliers glow with gentle light. The booths in the back are filled with couples huddled close together and the tables fill parties of what looks like friendship and sort-of dates. There are men in the back, dressed up in jackets, shirts unbuttoned at the throat, sitting with woman wearing dresses that show off curves and small waists. Dark hair falling over their shoulders, cheeks shining whenever the light catches the tilt of their faces.

At the bar, there's a good view of everyone, the woman in the far back that hasn't stopped whispering into her might-be-more-than-friend. The man who hasn't moved his hand from his partner’s thigh, though his partner doesn't seem to mind, not when they've been making eyes all night. They don't have any male performers, not in the spotlight anyway, but he knows men who don't prefer women sexually can appreciate the female form.

There’s about five minutes before he should take the stage. He has enough time for another drink, just a little bit of top-shelf whiskey to warm him up.

Lyrics dance in his head, wrap around the front of his brain; he can see them like ribbons wrapped around Liam’s body. _Liam Payne_. She’s the only dancer who performs to a live band; she's been dancing for years and Harry can remember the day she asked. Harry never thought someone so beautiful could be so sweet. And yet; it was early afternoon and all the tables were stacked and chairs were out of the way; the rest of the club girls were dancing in the center while the stage was being cleaned. He remembers Liam walking in with her earphones plugged in and her brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She's dressed modestly, joggers and an old sweatshirt brandished with a university logo. She waves to the other girls, but doesn't stop to chat. Instead, she beelines straight for Harry.

In that softer light, and standing that close to him, Liam seemed—almost ordinary. It’s a peculiar way to describe the woman he’s surely in love with, but she is. Without makeup or her intricate outfits, it was just _her_ , freckles and flushed cheeks and baby pink lips. Tired eyes and only the gentle slope of her neck on display. Locks of her hair in her face—she looks the furthest thing from put together and he likes that.

“Harry Styles, right?” She says, a genuine smile following. Her hands are full; cell phone, keys, headphones, wallet—she manages to transfer all of that to one hand just so she can tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Yes,” he says in return, setting down his guitar against the wall. “Can I—“

“Yeah, you can,” she interrupts, still smiling. “Was wondering if instead of just playing during the breaks like Simon has you doing, I thought you could accompany my dances. I love the tracks—mix them myself. But I’m looking for something a little more…raw. And I’ve heard the songs you guys play—I could use something like that.”

They discussed it, Harry and his band playing music for Liam’s dance. Four and a half minutes, something with a buildup, maybe a guitar solo where she could get her blood pumping.  

The entire time they talked she was laughing, kind, reached out to touch his forearm as she complimented their sound, his tattoo, his new haircut. It wasn’t _hard_ to become infatuated with her. She did most of the work for him.

Weeks passed, and Liam and Harry would go through the songs Harry and the band had written, coming upon the sexier ones, the tunes with a bit of grit and guitar. They were usually the last ones in the club, alone, pouring over the recordings on Harry’s phone, the way Liam always asks, “Do you mind?” before she stands up to dance.

That bit’s his favorite. It’s almost like it’s just for him, the way she swings her hips and drags her hands down the front of her body, her thighs. He’s left in a daze, just watching her, the way her body moves languidly, to the rhythm of the music, sexy, confident—

“I like this one,” she says. And Harry gives her the track to practice with.

Those nights are infinitely special—a few drinks, his music, the girl he likes. He hasn’t reached a place inside himself where he can tell her he wants to be with her—or, at least take her out. He will, but not yet.

On stage, he can see Jesy walking up to the mic, with her big hair and fishnets and platforms.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen. We’ve been preparing you all night, haven’t we? In just a minute, we’re going to have Liam come on stage.” The crowd claps and cheers, and Jesy provokes them, using “gimme hands” to get them to cheer louder. She walks off the stage, and Harry abandons the bar to assume his position, off center with the band, picking up his guitar and strumming the strings to check the tuning. Like every other night, Liam peeks from behind the curtain, just enough so that band can see.

“Ready, babe?” she says, smile on her face, glitter on her eyes and cheeks, red, red lips.

“Yeah,” he says, and she winks at him, disappearing from his line of sight.

The club goes dark and the curtains begin to lift, the trill of the piano begins, and then the drums, the guitar, and then Harry—

Well, he’s left with nothing but to sing, watching Liam’s every move, like her dance punctuates his phrases, moving as she caresses her body. She pays him no mind, doesn’t pay attention to anyone, not when she gets lost in herself, in the music, like she’s told him a million times.

_“It’s a bit like sex, Harry,”_ she said to him one night while they laid on the stage. _“It feels good to move, to touch yourself. I don’t have a partner, so it’s more like solo sex, but it’s—it just feels incredibly good. To have everyone watching you move. I don’t even have to get my clothes off. I just let myself feel the music and they like it. I get a little bit lost in it. Takes a while for me to come down. Just wanna lay there on stage with a drink and a cigarette.”_

It’s just Liam sitting on a giant chair as the music plays. On her knees, she tilts her head back, flips her hair, touches her palm to the ground as she crawls forward on the stage.

“I hope you can see the shape that I’m in while he’s touching your skin,” Harry croons into the microphone, the heaviness of the guitar flowing like electricity. “But you’re making me bleed.”

Standing with her back turned to the crowd, Liam smacks her thighs and bends forward, rising slowly; she peeks over her shoulder and looks out at the crowd, and because Harry is already looking at her, Liam catches his vision, and it almost makes him trips over his words, but he catches himself.

She swings her hips, dips, sits on the chair. The guitar plays, Harry taking a step back from the microphone just to watch how she kicks her legs up into the air and lets them fall open into the splits.

Harry’s singing again, “Woman, woman, w-woman,” echoing into the club. Liam sits up, crosses her legs, and flips her hair over her shoulder.

The audience cheers and claps and Liam takes a moment to bow and acknowledge the band, and then she’s running off the stage. The band continues playing music, but Harry leaves them to follow Liam backstage, feeling a little dizzy. He’d never seen her dance to that song—maybe it’s exactly what he’d imagined while he wrote it that has him off kilter, the fact that Liam fit into the lines of the song so perfectly.

Generally, anyone aside from the dancers and backstage personnel, are not allowed here, but no one bats an eye at Harry. Perrie, one of the dancers is sitting at her vanity, pulling the braids from her golden blonde hair.

“Have you seen Liam?” he asks her.

“Haven’t, no,” she answers. “She’s probably in the toilet, give her a minute. That was a wicked song, by the way. Wanna go home and tease my boyfriend to it.”

Harry grins, shaking his head. “I’m sure Liam would be happy to let you borrow a copy,” he says.

“Harry, what are you doing back here? You know there’s no boys allowed, babe,” Liam’s voice comes from behind him. She’s in limbo; her hair is untied from the ponytail and falls over her shoulders. She’s still got the corset on, but the fishnet stockings are gone and she wears just panties. She’s not quite dressed up, but she isn’t ready for bed, either.

“Niall is back here,” Harry says by way of answering.

“To see his boyfriend,” Liam says with a smirk. She walks up to him and kisses his cheek. “You on the other hand…”

“No, no boyfriend back here for me to see.”

Liam hums, but doesn’t engage his response. “You did fantastic,” she says. “It was—that song is amazing. I’m so glad you let me use it.”

“Speaking of using,” Perrie interjects, “I know you have a track—can I borrow please?”

“I’ll send it to you later, Pez,” Liam says. Perrie seems alright with that answer, kissing Liam’s forehead on her way out of the door.

The backstage traffic quiets as the featured dancers leave, and it’s just a few of the background dancers backstage.

“Would you like me to take you home?” Harry asks, even though he does every night.

“Yes, I would,” Liam says. “I thought, if you wanted, maybe you could come inside tonight.”

-

When they enter Liam’s apartment, she kicks off her shoes and takes off her coat, and Harry copies her. Liam still seems to be buzzing, like she always is, vibrating with an excitement he's still getting used to. He looks around; the apartment is decorated in a very haphazard way, like old things have been pushed back to make room for new things, but the old things still share the spotlight. There are stacks of books on top of the coffee table, bottles of nail varnish and a makeup bag. There are clothes on the second sofa, and the television is mounted to the wall, with an iron-like stand underneath it with DVD titles. There are a few photos on the wall in between posters with sayings like “Girl Power!” and “Girlz Rule, Boyz Drool” printed a splatter of spray paint.

"I feel like dancing, Harry," she says, and in the middle of the living room, she steals his attention, still wearing that sequined corset and a pair of leggings, leaving nothing to the imagination—although he’s seen most of her, on a stage under multicolored lights, he supposes this wouldn’t be anything different. Except now, it’s just Harry and he can see everything, every single curve, from the slope of her throat to the curve of her breasts and the sweet way her waist tapers off into the flare of her hips.

"You’ve just come from work, Liam. Aren't you tired?" He says, chuckling as he walks into the living room where Liam’s fiddling with the stereo. He watches her push in a cassette.

When she turns to look back at him, he catches her eyes falling over his chest where his shirt is opened, and lower, where he knows the pants don't do much to keep him modest. She looks up and their eyes connect, and she shakes her head.

The stereo plays, and when the trill of the piano begins, Harry’s heart rate spikes; that’s _his_ song. Liam moves her body with the fluid grace of a classically trained dancer and Harry can't help but sit himself down on the sofa, listening to the words of the song he wrote as Liam moves, swaying her hips in a way that floods him with lust. He wants to touch her, wants to reach out and press the palms of his hands to her hips, seat her on his lap. She looks so willing, she does, the way she looks at him with dark eyes, reaching her hand up to pull at the lace that ties together the front of her corset.

"I'm selfish, I know. I told you, but I know you never listen," Harry hears himself sing. Liam doesn't take her eyes off him, not while she undresses herself, like she's unwrapping a gift and--

He leans back to watch, his hands resting on his thighs. His eyes catch her golden skin, tattoos all marked down her arms, a dangerous kind of image that darkens her soft features. Harry's eyes fall over the curves of her body, the sway of her hips, the color of her flesh. She touches herself, runs her hands over her thighs, her hips, her breasts, runs her fingers through her hair, and while the electricity of a guitar running through riffs plays in the background, she climbs onto his lap.

“Woman, woman," she sings, her voice breathy in his ear, with her hands on his shoulders. “La la la la la la la la.” And he knows she can feel it, the affect she has on him, how hard he is, watching her dance for him, strip for him, come to him with darkened eyes and a mouth made for sin, pressing her mouth to the corner of his. She grinds her hips down in a slow seductive rhythm, something that makes him sigh out a soft moan, and she echoes it, and he can't help but let his hands touch her, press against the curve of her waist, pulling apart the opening of the corset to touch her properly. He touches her skin and he’s marveled by how soft she is, how responsive when he thumbs over her nipples and she arches her back.

"Do you want me, Harry?" She asks, eyes on him, and the song has ended, tapered into something equally as sexy, allowing Liam to move over his lap. They haven't properly kissed yet, be he knows, like he knows the sky is blue, that the night won't end without him being well acquainted with her body.

When he doesn't say anything, she seems to not be bothered; he moves his hands to lift the corset off, like that's answer enough. He looks up at her, licks his lips, and claims her mouth in a bruising kiss. It doesn't last very long.

“Come on,” Liam says, pulling back to look at him, dark pupils blown wide.

She stands, taking his hand in hers, clasping their fingers together. Harry follows her down the short hallway; she pushes on a door and letting go of his hand, she lays on the bed, reaching a hand to illuminate the bedroom with the low light from the lamp on her bedside table. Standing at the edge of the bed, he begins to undress himself, watching the way her body twists as she pulls a ribbon of condoms from the drawer.

It’s almost trance-like, the state that he’s in. Liam kneels at the end of the bed, reaching up to touch his chest, trace her fingers over the swallows, and the little tattoos he’s gotten on his shoulders and the very tops of his arm. She leans in, kissing his sternum, and it’s hard to breathe now, looking down and watching her press her mouth to his flesh. With her hands on his belt buckle, Harry feels light headed, dizzy; when she pulls apart the fly of his jeans to touch his cock, he’s incredibly hard.

“Come here, babe,” he says, tracing his fingers over the top of her shoulders. She looks up at him, rights herself so they’re almost the same height. She leans down to kiss him, and he pulls her closer, hands gripping the supple flesh of her ass. She bites his bottom lip and he groans.

“Want your mouth first,” she says against his lips, running her fingers through his hair. Just the thought of having his mouth between her thighs sends a thrill through him; she doesn’t hesitate to lay back against the mattress.

With her head against the pillows, Liam’s hair is splayed out in a mess. The design of the white metal bed frame makes her look innocent; she’s topless, body long and lean. He climbs on the bed, kneeling, reaching for her hips so he can undress the rest of her. She helps, lifting her hips so her leggings come off easily, revealing smooth skin he can't wait to get his mouth on. Her legs fall open, a silent invitation, and she touches herself, like she’s impatient, fingertips pinching her own nipples, back arching when he kisses the inside of her thigh.

For a moment, he closes his eyes, just loses himself in the softness of her flesh, the scent of her, how wet she is when he thumbs open her lips just to press a kiss to her clit. She moans, just a soft little noise and Harry feels her shift, opens his eyes to see her push up onto her elbows, reaching a hand for his hair.

"Be good for me," she says, and he can't think of any other way to be good for her than the flick of his tongue against her, pressing hard as he slips a couple of fingers inside of her.

He works hard to hear her, uses all the techniques he's learned to surprise her, to make her make those sweet, delicious sounds that go straight to his cock. He wants to be inside her, but not yet, not until he's made her come with his tongue and his deft fingers, so he can work her back up again. He keeps a slow rhythm, an echo of the way he’d like to fuck her, taking his time to charm her into unravelling.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” she murmurs, looking right at him when he looks up at her, his mouth still covering her. She tugs his hair and he groans, eyes fluttering closed as he listens to her wrecked, lust-laced voice.

“Just…. Mmm. The way you sang, and how you looked at me. Could feel you watching— _uh_ —me.” She swivels her hips, like she’s riding his face, and Harry flattens his tongue against her clit, deepening the push of his fingers. He twists them to get her to cry out.

“I liked when your hair was longer,” she says. “Always thought about pulling on it if I ever got the chance to fuck you.”

And just like that, with his fingers in her wet cunt and her back arched; she comes. It’s near silent. Not at all the way he thought. Her body trembles underneath his, and he kisses her thighs, her tummy, just to coax her into being still.  

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” she says. He grins against her skin, kissing his way up her body as she laughs softly.

“You talk a lot,” Harry replies, kissing her. She chases his mouth, licking over his tongue, sucking on it; he can’t help but imagine her mouth on other favorable places of his body.

“Like talking to you,” she says. “You shiver when I talk about fucking you.”

He does and it’s an uncontrollable thing about him. It’s like she commands it from his body, whenever something particularly filthy comes out of her mouth, when she touches him with fingertips so soft he’s convinced his imagination has conjured some lucid dream.

“Get your pants off.”

Lying on his back, Harry pulls off his jeans, kicking them off the rest of the way. His cock settles against his lower abdomen and Liam turns onto her stomach, watching him with fire-lit eyes as he strokes himself.

“You’d look incredible in one of those…mm, like those magazines, yeah? Where people are mostly naked, but it’s alright cause they’re in a bath or they’ve got flowers in their hair.” Liam shifts closer, lays her head on Harry’s shoulder and he wraps his arm around her. “Reckon this would make a good spread,” she continues. Harry closes his eyes and buries his nose in her hair. She smells like flowers, strawberries, sweat from dancing all night. He keeps his hands at his sides, lets Liam stroke him off. His mouth wants to taste her again, but he settles for the kiss of her lips, the intensity of it coupled with her fist around his cock, stroking and twisting at the tip, cupping his balls.

“Think you’d look a lot better than me covered in flowers, love,” he murmurs, moaning against her temple.

“Tell me, Harry,” Liam says, whispering in his ear. “How’d you like to have me? On my knees, on my back, on your lap?”

The image he’s had of Liam was erroneous. To think her charming smiles and lovely brown eyes could talk this way. She looks incredibly sweet, cheeks flushed and makeup smudged, eyes tired but crinkled at the sides. He wants to mark her neck.

“Lay down,” he says. And she does, on her stomach with her head against the pillows, letting her eyes fall closed. For a moment, he lets himself feel lucky; he locks away phrases and thoughts and ideas, knowing come morning, he’ll crack open a notebook and jot down every memory of her, of her body, the dip in her back, the thickness of her thighs, the way her skin blushes the rosiest shade of pink. The rough sound of her voice when she’s this aroused, waiting for sex, waiting for someone to touch her.  

He grabs the ribbon of condoms and tears one off, ripping the wrapper open and taking no time to roll it on. He sits on the back of her thighs with his knees on the outsides of her hips, stroking himself while she trembles underneath him. He’s shaking, too, and it’s probably from the anticipation of finally getting to be inside of her, but it’s more. Cause she’s been the girl of his dreams, his muse, for so long, and having her naked, lying here waiting for him—it’s a lot more than he was prepared to handle.

“Are you alright?” she whispers.

“ _Yes_ ,” he responds, pressing his cock inside of her, just the tip; he can feel the way she presses her legs together, tries to push up against him. Her, “ _Oh, my God, my Harry_ ,” echoes in the bedroom, and then it’s just the heaviness of their breathing. Her words catch on his heart and melt into his skin as he grasps her hips with his hands, pushing against the swell of her ass with his hips. She moans, calls his name; he can see the way her fingers clutch at the blankets underneath them as he fucks into her, the way she grasps at the pillows.

The only problem, if it can truly be called a problem, is that he can’t she her face. He’s in love with the dimples at her spine, but he wants to see the ecstasy on her face. He pulls out.

“Harry, fuck, _Harry—“_

“I want to see your face,” Harry says, flipping her body over, spreading her thighs with his hands. “Want to watch your face when I make you come again.”

“Yes, yes, come here,” Liam says, hands by her head, curling her legs around Harry’s hips, pulling him in. He guides himself inside of her, pushes in and stays; she sounds like she’s crying the way she whimpers, touching her hands to his face. Like this; it’s easier to love her body like this, thrusting his hips against hers, devouring her mouth. The necklaces he wears drag across her throat; she stares back at him with those dark brown eyes, and he has nowhere else to look but her face, her mouth, the way her lips curl around his name.

“You feel so good,” he says to her, kissing over her throat, whispering into her ear. “Wrote it about you. I write everything about you.”

In response, he doesn’t hear the sweet wreckage of her voice; he feels the way her nails dig into his back, the way she grabs his ass like he can press any closer against her body. Or maybe it’s so that he won’t leave; not like he could, pressed against her body, her chest against his, the little moans she makes echoing in his ear—he’ll stay forever if he could.

He pushes himself up onto his palms, fucks into her quicker, pressing his hand against her sternum, watches the way she reaches her own fingers down to rub tight little circles against her clit. She throws her head back, hands grasping at the pillows again and Harry can’t stop watching her.

The sound of their sex isn’t loud, boisterous; Liam’s iron bed frame doesn’t knock against the wall, the bed doesn’t creak from how hard he thrusts inside of her, she isn’t wailing at the top of her lungs; their tryst is private, a secret between the two of them, in the almost dark of Liam’s bedroom, where it’s just his breath and hers, and he could write stanzas and sonnets and songs about the way she looks, how it feels to touch her, the way every sound she makes is for him and his ears only. Her body glistens with sweat; he touches her breasts, covers them with his palms. Sitting on his haunches, he drags his hands over her stomach, left hand stopping at her hip, and his right hand continuing lower, pressed just above her pussy. His thumb rubs at her clit, intermittently, without any rhythm or finesse; he’s too close to concentrate, but he’s _trying_.

“Harry, baby, please,” she says, “come here, come here.” He does, slows his hips, grinding against her. There’s a moment where her breath hitches and he’s afraid he’s gonna miss it, but Liam grabs his face with her hands, like she wants him to watch her, so he does, and it’s—fascinating when she comes. Her legs tighten around his hips, her hips grind up against his, and she makes the softest, “ _uh, uh,_ ” sounds, wrapped up in his name and a few choice curses. And after that, his orgasm pours out of him—

“Liam—fuck, _Liam,_ ” he chokes, fucking his hips against just a few more time before he stills, dropping his full weight against her body. She holds him, pulls him closer, even though they’re sweaty, come slick, out of breath—

“Babe,” Liam says, “I already want to do it again.”

Laughing, Harry noses over Liam’s shoulder, pressing a kiss over her clavicle. “We could, all night if you wanted to,” he says, which is probably more generous than he can handle, but he’d like it, making love to her all night until the sun came up, until she couldn’t anymore.

“And tomorrow night and the night after that,” she whispers. She runs her fingers through his sweaty hair, and Harry’s stuck in a reverie, wondering if this is the feeling people spend their whole lives chasing after. Not the euphoria of an orgasm, not sexual release, but these endorphins, these chemicals in his brain that come from being with someone familiar, someone beautiful and warm and utterly breathtaking.

Harry pulls back from her, rolls off her body. The air in the room is stuffy, warm, and he’s a sticky mess lying next to her, but he doesn’t want to move. She does instead.

It’s enchanting to see her walk, the swing of her hips, like she’s dancing. And naked; it’s something else entirely, when she comes back from the bathroom with a washcloth in her hand and her hair tied up and the makeup smudges underneath her eyes gone.

She cleans up his mess, does away with the condom, and then she’s back at his side, her thigh over his tummy.

“I figured someone who looked the way you do would have to be amazing in bed, and I am not entirely disappointed,” she says with a wide grin.

“Why disappoint you entirely, when I could just continuously let you down little by little,” he says, leaning up on one elbow and running his fingers through his hair with his auxiliary hand.

“You were incredibly good to me,” she says. “Can’t imagine you’d ever let me down.”

He kisses her. Because he can, because he wants to, because he can’t imagine a time where he isn’t going to have the chance to do so again. And she kisses him back, dulcet, soft, with a sigh that tugs the strings of his heart.

“Write another one for me?” Liam says, tracing her fingers high up on his chest over his clavicle.

“I’ll write you a million songs.” He says, taking her hand, kissing her palm. He can see the blush flourish in her cheeks. Soft, sweet, this woman.

“Just one more is okay. And stay, hmm? There’s room for you here,” Liam says, kissing over Harry’s face, settling for his lips.

There’s laughter that bubbles from Harry’s chest. “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

-

A closet full of clothes and she chooses to wear his shirt, buttoned up just above her navel, the hem dropping just above Liam’s thighs.

“I’ll make coffee,” she says, pulling the tie from her hair to let it fall over her shoulders. She’s beautiful in the morning, sleep soft and languid, her movements slow. Harry, naked and half-asleep, lays in Liam’s bed, since he’s got nowhere to go but home, and work, and back home again. He likes it here in her rumpled sheets, he’s in no hurry to move.

The sound of Liam’s voice filters from the hallway and into the bedroom, singing, “ _Loving you is easy ‘cause you’re beautiful.”_

It’s impossible not to smile; Harry turns over onto his stomach as Liam’s voice gets louder, rubbing his grinning face into her pillows. She enters the bedroom, with a mug in either of her hands, a wide smile on her face. She sets them down on the bedside table and climbs into the bed beside him, kissing over his shoulder; her fingertips dance at the bottom of his spine.

“Making love with you is all I wanna do,” she whisper-sings, finding his mouth and stealing a soft kiss. He chases after her, keeping her close by tugging on her (his) shirt.

“Yeah?” Harry says, even though he knows it’s only song lyrics.

“Mmm, maybe later. I have to go grocery shopping before the show tonight. Wanna come?” she asks, running her fingers through his hair.

It isn’t at all peculiar to find that yes, he does want to join her. He wants to go with her and watch her compare prices between cans of beans and buy toothpaste and shampoo.

So, he does, dressed in yesterday’s clothes, smelling like Liam’s body soap. The weather is shit and rain sprinkles on them the entire fifteen minute walk but they hold hands the whole way.

And the way back.

Liam makes mac and cheese with broccoli mixed in and they eat tucked away in Liam’s bed while the rains comes down hard. Liam’s toes are cold against his calves but her fingers are warm against his chest. He shares the songs that he’s written with her, playing unfinished cuts from his phone, pausing and replaying because, Liam says, “I really like that bit.” He finds he likes the way she sings it back to him, and that she doesn’t hesitate when she wants to kiss him.

And after that they do make love, slowly, with reverence and promise in the way they touch each other, passionate. Even though they’re silent and Liam’s gone and fallen asleep on his chest, the way she’s wrapped around him echoes her words from the night before.

_Stay, hmm? There’s room for you here._

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
